


Depths

by st_mick



Series: (Mis)Understandings [1]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Episode: Big Finish Audio Drama 2.5: Broken, F/M, Hurt/Very little comfort (yet), Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 10:45:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17641289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/st_mick/pseuds/st_mick
Summary: In the aftermath of Lisa's final death, Ianto is serving out his suspension.  In a moment of weakness, he surrenders to a dark impulse.  But he can't go without saying goodbye to his mother...





	Depths

_“You haven’t been thinking about… doing anything, you know, like after Lisa…” **[1]**_

***

It was meant to be summertime, in Cardiff.  But it was bloody cold and bloody wet, and Ianto Jones was more bloody drunk than he’d ever been in his life.  He had spent the evening at the Ferret, getting properly blind, stinking pissed.  And when Mandy closed, he had stumbled home and cracked open his last bottle of whisky and what was left of Lisa’s last bottle of painkillers. 

He was cold.  But the window was all the way over there.  He was on the floor by front door.  Why was he on the floor?  Oh.  He had wanted his phone, and it had been on the table by the door.  He had it in his hand, now, staring at the too-bright lights on the display.  It was gone one in the morning.  Who was he calling, again? 

“Hello?”

Oh, that’s right.  He remembered, now.  “Mam,” he whispered.  It was late, and he didn’t want to wake anyone.

“Ianto?” Glenda Jones was fully awake, now.  Even that one, whispered syllable was enough to raise her hackles.  “What’s wrong, Love?”

“Lisa,” he said miserably.

“What’s happened?” Glenda dreaded the answer.  When Ianto had returned to Cardiff, he had told his mother that Lisa had been injured during the terrorist attack at Canary Wharf.  He had brought her to a special facility here in Cardiff, to recover.  He had always refused to tell her where, which upset her, because she certainly would have visited. 

As it was, Ianto had refused all help, insisting that he was fine and that Lisa would make a full recovery, eventually.  The most he accepted by way of help was the one meal a week that his mother cooked and brought to him, when he couldn’t visit.  But she always worried that the facility did not allow visitors, and why that might be, if Lisa’s prognosis was as good as Ianto claimed. 

Now she knew the answer, even without Ianto speaking it.  “Oh, Son.  Oh, my boy, I am so sorry,” she said, her distressed voice drawing a sob from Ianto.  “When?”

“I don’t… a few days ago,” he said, not wanting his mother to know he had not called her right away, and that between the suspension and his guilt and the shame and the drinking, he had lost track of time, as well.

“I’m coming over,” Glenda was already up, moving about her room, pulling clothes on.

“No,” Ianto answered.  “I… I just wanted to say, I…I’m sorry, Mam.”

Glenda stopped dead in her tracks, dread trickling, cold and slick, down her spine.  “Why are you sorry, Sweetheart?”

“I thought… I thought she could get better, but…  Oh, God,” he sobbed again.  “I love you, Mam, but I… I can’t.  I can’t.  I…”

“Ifan Emrick Jones, what have you done?”[2]

“I… I don’t know.  I…  There’s a whisky bottle, here.  Wait, who drank all of me whisky?  And… oh.”

“Oh?” Glenda was banging on her neighbor’s door.  Mrs. Llewellyn wouldn’t gossip.  “Grace, dear, can you please call 999 for me?  My Ianto seems to have had a bit of a mishap.  Here’s his address.”  She wrote down the address and walked quickly to her car, knowing her friend would make the call for her.

Ianto had spotted the bottle of pills.  Yes.  Good.  This was good.  This was why he’d called his mam, in the first place.

“The last of Lisa’s painkillers.  She doesn’t need them, any more.  I… I should’ve packed things up, so Jack and the others wouldn’t be bothered.  But…  Oh, God, Mam.  Jack.  I…  I said the most terrible things.”

“That’s all right, Love.  It’s all right.  I’m sure he knows you didn’t mean them.  I’m sure he knows that we none of us behave well, when we’re distraught.”

“I should go, Mam.”

“No, talk to me for a while longer, Love.  We never chat, and I’m glad you called to tell me what’s happening.  Are you at your flat?”

“Yes.  God, I bloody hate this place.”

“Why?” In that moment, all Glenda knew was that she needed to keep him talking.

“I unpacked all of Lisa’s things, for when she could come home.  And now she’s everywhere, and she… she’s never coming home,” he was sobbing, now.  “Mam, I messed up.  I thought I could save her.  I… she was just too far gone, and I didn’t want to see.”

“Ianto, Love, of course you wanted to save her,” Glenda thanked every deity she had ever heard of that traffic was light and her way was clear.  She was almost to Ianto’s flat.

Ianto was growing drowsy.  His speech had been slurred from the beginning of the conversation, his accent as heavy as his mother had ever heard it.  “Mam, think I’ll ring off, now.  Really tired.  ‘m sorry I called s’late.

“Ianto, stay with me, Love.  Tell me what you said to Jack.  He’s your boss, right?”

“Oh, God,” Ianto felt the shame rising up from his gut like a flame that ascended to heat his face.  “I call’d ‘m a mon-ster.”

“That doesn’t sound like you, Son,” Glenda said, surprised.  “Unless it’s true, mind.  You were always one to speak your mind.”

“It is, but it isn’t,” Ianto muttered.  “I don’t… I don’t envy what he has to do.  But…  Oh, God, Mam.  Lisa’s gone.  She…  I have… it’s right here.  I was going to…  Mam, I can’t do this.  I’m sorry.  I love you.  Goodbye, Mam.”

He hung up just as Glenda parked her car.  She could hear sirens in the distance.  She raced up the stairs, praying he was still conscious.  Praying his door might be unlocked.

Praying he was still alive.

She turned the doorknob and was relieved when the door opened.  She almost tripped over Ianto, who was slumped against the wall, next to the door.

“Oh, Love,” she knelt beside him and pressed a hand to his cheek.  His skin was cold to the touch.  She reached up and turned on the light on the hall table next to where he had collapsed. 

Ianto winced and forced his eyes open.  “Mam?”  He seemed utterly confused.

“I’m here, Love.”

“Mam, Lisa died,” he cried.

She pulled him into her arms as he wept.  She could feel him growing weaker with each passing moment.  His breathing was uneven, ragged.  He was growing more and more heavy, in her arms.  And he was _so_ cold.

Where was that bloody ambulance?

“Ianto?” she asked, sitting away from him.  “Ianto, Love, please try to stay awake.”

“Mam,” he whispered, his eyes drooping.  “Look.”  He placed the jewellery box he had been holding in her hand.  “I think she would’ve said yes,” he sniffed.

She opened the box and saw a lovely sapphire engagement ring.  “Oh, Ianto, it’s lovely.”

“What the hell is going on here?” a loud, American voice demanded from the landing outside the door.

Ianto groaned, and Glenda stood just as a handsome man in a vintage RAF greatcoat barged in the door, his eyes wild as he took in the room.  He frowned at the sight of Ianto, sitting on the floor.

“And who might you be?” she asked, hands on hips and voice equally demanding.

“MamJack, JackMam,” Ianto muttered, his voice weakening.

“An alert came through that an ambulance was dispatched to your address, Ianto.  What’s going on?”

Glenda stared at the man.  Had he taken leave of his senses?  One look at her son should tell him everything he needed to know, but he seemed too angry to pay attention.

“I called them.  Rather, I had my neighbor call.”

Jack finally began to take in what he was seeing.  He looked at Ianto, who was slouched against the wall and seemed to be fading, fast.  Then he spotted the empty whisky bottle before something else caught his eye.  He stooped down and picked up the pill bottle.  One look at the label and he was cursing a blue streak. 

He took out his phone and within seconds said, “Owen, get over to Ianto’s.  Ianto, how many were in this bottle?” He knelt down and raised his voice, repeating the question.  Glenda noticed that his voice was steady, but his hands were shaking.

“Lisa’s last bot-ul,” Ianto murmured.  “She duzz’n nee ‘em.”  Jack gave him a bit of a shake, and he seemed to remember the question.  “’alf, ‘r zo.  Tharwer fif-too lef…”  His head lolled to the side.

Jack gave the name of the drug from the label.  “You hear that?  With a fifth of whisky.  Slurring, partially responsive, very cold to the touch, he’s a little blue, actually.  Yeah, okay.  I’ll do that.  Just get your ass over here.”

Jack hung up and put a hand on Ianto’s shoulder.  “Owen’s on his way.  Try to hold on, Ianto.”  He turned to Glenda.  “Mrs. Jones.  Care to help me make your son vomit up those pills?”

“What about the ambulance?”

Jack hesitated.  “They’ve been diverted.”

“But I heard them,” she began to fret.  “I kept him talking, and I heard them coming, as I arrived.  What the hell do you mean, they were diverted?”

Jack didn’t answer.  “We need a spoon, I suppose.”

“A spoon?” she looked confused, but then remembered Jack’s comment about forcing Ianto to vomit.  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.  He’s not some anorexic supermodel.  Look under his sink, in the first aid kit.  He has ipecac in there.”

“Why?” Jack looked baffled.

“Sometimes his niece and nephew visit.  He likes to be prepared, in case anything goes wrong.”  She reached out and touched Ianto’s cheek.  “He never could bear the thought of anyone being hurt.” 

Jack bit back the angry retort that would refute Glenda’s last statement, but then he realized that she didn’t know what had happened.  She was just describing her son.  The man she knew.  She wasn’t boasting or talking him up to his boss.  She was merely stating fact, with a touch of sadness that indicated she knew full well what the world did to the tender-hearted.

She stood rather suddenly.  “I’ll go,” she said, clearly fighting tears.

As she strode away, Ianto spoke quietly.  “Jack.”

“Does she know you any better than we did?” Jack asked, and Ianto flinched.

“I know,” he slurred.  “My pun-sh-ment… Yerr meant to ex-cute me…”  He reached out and grabbed the lapel of Jack’s coat, suddenly much more lucid.  “Please… take Mam ‘way and leave me.  I don’t de-serf mercy, but…” he slumped back against the wall.

“Why?” Jack asked, baffled.  He had never expected Ianto to be suicidal.  He seemed so… untouchable.  But that wasn’t true, was it?  There had been plenty of emotion, that awful night.

“Therz noth-think,” he replied, a single tear escaping.  “Noth-think lef’.  You know Torchwood.  On’y friends you haf are yer co-work-ers.  I lost ever’ friend I ever had, that day.  And Lis…Lisa.  But I couldn’ ad-mit it.  So shell-fish,” he choked.

“Why selfish?” Jack frowned, not understanding.  He heard Glenda curse as she searched for the first aid kit.

Ianto snorted.  “Kep’ her a-live.  _Made_ her suf… suffer…  Taki-nk care o’ her… wuz on’y think that kep’ me from loose-ing my mind…  That day, it was…” he shuddered.  “And then, my shellfish-ness and stoop-idity, it _killed_ those people.” 

Ianto took a deep breath and forced himself to name his victims.  “Dr. Tani-zaki.  And… Annie.  Almos’ killed you lot…  My team…”  He shook his head.  “ _Your_ team,” the team he had never been a part of.  “Could ‘ave killed the wurl...”  He curled in on himself, groaning as if in physical pain.  “Oh, God.”

He took hold of Jack’s lapel again.  “Please, Sir.  I know yerr not a…  _Please_ , take her away.  Jus’ let me go…”

Jack was shocked as the realization set in.  Ianto’s grief, denial and (most likely) PTSD had fueled the foolish and naïve notion that Lisa could be saved.  But his actions had not been malicious.  They had been desperate and brilliant and haunted and doomed.  And now, the despair of all that had been lost and the guilt that two innocents had died had driven him to believe that he could not keep going. 

It was a body blow.  Jack had, once again, misunderstood his Archivist.  He had assumed Ianto would mope for a bit and come back, eager to make up for his mistake.  He had assumed that Ianto was as shallow as his façade.  But he should have known better, after having seen the depth of Ianto’s devotion, the lengths he had been willing to go to, the genius it would have taken to so thoroughly con a conman…

Jack shook himself out of his daze as Glenda returned from the kitchen.  He picked up Ianto and carried him to the bathroom, frowning because a man his own height should not be so light.  It was startling to feel that Ianto was just skin and bones, in his arms. 

“Sorry, Ianto, but your evening is about to get very unpleasant,” he said, his voice holding a new gentleness as he set Ianto down next to the toilet. 

“Yeah, cuz iz really been aces, so farrr,” Ianto slurred.

Glenda handed Jack the bottle and he tipped it down Ianto’s throat.

Ianto barely reacted, but within minutes he was roused enough to be emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet.  Jack held his torso steady as Glenda held his head.  She was making soothing noises, which Jack had to admit went a long way to calming him, as well.

Ianto passed out after many long minutes of being ill.  It was clear he had not eaten anything recently, as the only thing that came up was alcohol and a frightening number of pills.  Jack made a quick count as Glenda mopped Ianto’s face with a flannel. 

In the next moment, Owen bolted in.  “What the bloody hell happened?  And where did he get the fucking pills?  And…  Who the hell are you?”

Jack could see where Ianto got his quiet dignity.  “I am Glenda Jones.  Who the hell are you?”

Owen’s eyes widened.  Jack quickly explained.  “This is Ianto’s mother.  He called her.”

“He called to say goodbye,” she said, her eyes wet and red.

“She had called for an ambulance, and I got the alert,” Jack finished.  He reached down and picked Ianto up, carrying him to the bedroom and gently depositing him onto the bed.

Glenda took off Ianto’s shoes and socks as Owen took his trousers off.  He left Ianto’s shirt on, knowing that if the Tea Boy survived, he would not thank Owen for allowing his mother to see his scars.  He swiftly started an IV and asked Glenda for a cold compress.  While she was retrieving that, he quickly inserted a catheter.

“Ow’n,” Ianto groaned, reaching out for the doctor. 

“Yeah, Tea Boy,” Owen said quietly, not having it in him to be angry, in this moment.

“Don’t…  Please don’t let Jack hurt my mam.  She’s not evil, I promise.  And I haven’t told her anything, I swear,” he lay back, having used the last of his reserves to beg for his mother’s safety.

“She’ll be fine, Ianto,” Owen answered, realizing that Ianto was likely mixing horrors, in his addled state.  He looked up to see Jack had gone pale. 

They quickly regrouped, and Owen checked Ianto over as Jack told him about the ipecac.  “He seemed to know exactly how many pills were in the bottle,” Jack said.

“Can’t say that shocks me,” Owen remarked.  “I’m convinced the kid’s got undiagnosed OCD, though it might also just be a coping mechanism.”

“He said there were fifty-two in the bottle, vomited up about forty-five, as best I could count.”

Owen looked at the bottle and whistled.  “That’s still a lot to have in his system.  And his blood alcohol level is dangerously high.  I’m seeing mild hypothermia, so I’d say alcohol poisoning is likely.  The IV and catheter should help flush it out, but we can’t leave him alone.”

“Just tell me what to do,” Glenda said bracingly.  The two men jumped.

“Blimey, we know where he gets that from,” Owen remarked.  “Make a noise, will you?”

“Mrs. Jones,” Jack smiled.  “What exactly did Ianto tell you?”

Owen looked sharply at Jack, suddenly worried he’d not be able to keep his promise to Ianto.

She shook her head, and finally the tears began to fall.  “He wasn’t terribly coherent.  He told me that Lisa was gone.”

“What did you know about her?” Jack asked, perhaps a bit more sharply than he intended, because Owen gave him a discreet nudge, telling him to back it down.

“Ianto moved back to Cardiff because there was a facility here that was able to care for her, after she was injured in the terrorist attack at Canary Wharf.  Apparently, she worked there, the poor dear.  You never think you’ll know anyone involved, when that sort of thing happens, but here we are, we knew poor Lisa.  Anyway, he always said that he expected she’d make a complete recovery, but I was worried, from the start.”

“Why was that?” Owen asked, his voice gentle.

“Well, if her prognosis was good, why weren’t visitors allowed?  I’ve been so worried about my boy,” she sighed, sitting on the bed next to Ianto and running a hand through his hair.  She took the compress and mopped his face for a moment before continuing.  “He never would tell us the name of the facility, never let us visit, or help.  He’s always been so self-sufficient, ever since… well.”  She looked up and saw the confusion in their eyes and added vaguely, “Since he was fourteen, or so.”

“What else did he say, when he called?” Jack asked, his voice finally showing some kindness.

“Oh.  Well, he kept saying that he was sorry.  That he’d messed up.  That he thought he could save her, but she was too far gone, and he hadn’t wanted to see.  And then he started saying things that didn’t make sense.”

“Like what?” Owen prompted, again, glancing at Jack, wondering how the boss felt about Ianto coming to his senses.

“Some nonsense that he should have packed up his flat, so you wouldn’t have to, Jack.  And he was upset that he had said terrible things to you.”  She looked from Ianto to Jack.  “For what it’s worth, I believe he’s sorry for what he said.”

Jack looked at Owen, who shook his head.  Clearly, Ianto had revealed nothing that would require a dose of Retcon for Glenda.

She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and held out a small box.  “I didn’t realize,” she said quietly.  “I knew he loved her, of course.  That was plain to see.  Such a wonderful, lovely, intelligent young woman.  And she was so good for him.  I’d never seen him… happy.  But I didn’t realize he wanted to,” she trailed off, opening the ring box and staring at the sapphire, once more.  “Oh, my poor boy,” she cried.

Owen focused on changing out Ianto’s IV bag rather than gawping as Jack put a comforting hand on Glenda’s shoulder.  “We are sorry for your family’s loss,” he said, and it sounded like he actually meant it.

Glenda nodded.  Then she looked at Owen.  “Will… Will he be all right?”

Owen nodded.  “He’s going to sleep for a long time, and then he’ll feel like a lorry ran him over, backed up, and had a second go.  But give him a few days, and he’ll be…” he trailed off.  “I expect he’ll make a full physical recovery, Mrs. Jones.”

“But that’s only a small part of it, isn’t it?”

“Well, given that there’s no note, and he didn’t pack up his things and leave everything tidy, I would say this was just an impulse.  Given what we know about Tea… about Ianto, I think he’ll be appalled, when sober and in his right mind.  I doubt he’d try again, but we’ll keep an eye on him, to be sure.”

“I appreciate that,” she said.  Then, looking from Owen to Jack, “I didn’t realize the Tourism Board had their own physician, on staff.”

“New program,” Jack replied with a half-hearted smile.  “Just trying it out.  I’ll probably fire him tomorrow,” he added, hooking a thumb in Owen’s direction.

Glenda gave a dark chuckle, and something tickled Jack’s memory.  “Have we met before, Glenda?”

Owen rolled his eyes and reached down to check Ianto’s vitals again.

“No, I believe I would have remembered that coat,” she replied, leaving the room.  Jack followed her and helped her to move one of the arm chairs from Ianto’s living room into the bedroom.  He went back and retrieved a second, as well.

Jack was still considering Glenda Jones.  She seemed terribly familiar.  And not because of any resemblance Ianto may have borne to her. 

***

Ianto woke late the next afternoon, feeling as though Jack had pushed him from one of the rooftops he enjoyed standing on.  He turned on his side, too weak and too weary to react to Jack or his mother, though he squeezed her hand tightly as he stared blankly through the tears he could not seem to stop.

After a few hours of staring, he slept again.  The next morning, Owen removed the catheter and IV and Ianto was back on his feet, dressed and shaved and insisting that he was fine.  He promised his mother that he would not try anything like that again, and thanked her for taking care of him. 

He told them all that he wanted to be alone, to grieve.  After Glenda left, Jack agreed to leave Ianto on his own, on the condition that he allow cameras in his flat.  “It’s that or you stay at the Hub, so we can be sure you don’t try this again,” he said, his voice harder than he meant it to be.

Ianto, realizing that they had absolutely no reason to trust him, agreed.  “I understand, Sir.  It was foolish of me to expect mercy from Torchwood.  I see now that my punishment is to live.”  He sighed, and it was only Jack’s sharpened 51st century hearing that picked up the whispered, “Always has been.”

Jack frowned.  “Your only punishment is the suspension, Ianto.  Just try to hang on.  I know it sounds trite, but it really will get better.” 

He ignored Ianto’s scoff and gave the younger man’s shoulder a tentative pat, chagrined to see him flinch at his touch.  He and Owen set up the cameras and left.  The team took it in turns to watch over Ianto, who spent the remainder of his suspension staring at the television that was never switched on, enduring visits from his mother and sister, eating barely enough to sustain him, and drinking himself numb at the Ferret.

***

 

[1] From audiobook “Broken”

[2] Emrick means “Immortal”.  Because… irony.  And I’m evil.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I haven't been able to get a clear bead on timelines, so I've made some, myself:  
> Fall of Canary Wharf: 04.11.2006  
> Cyberwoman: 08.10.2006  
> This fic takes place on: 08.14.2006


End file.
